


Just one more miracle, for me. Please.

by mendystar1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, John's POV, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Suicide, john watson's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendystar1/pseuds/mendystar1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his best friend, John Watson decides to go out the same way he did. By falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just one more miracle, for me. Please.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [fanart](http://mlysza.tumblr.com/post/16149186805).

This is it. I never thought I would do this. Not after I met you. 

But you’re done now.

Dead.

Never coming back.

It seemed fitting to do it the way you did. At Bart’s. On the roof.

It was never the same after you.. left. I couldn’t go back to the flat. Not with all your stuff there.

Reminded me too much of you. Like you were never gone. Like you’ll run up those steps, start pacing as you always did within these walls. You’ll look at me with that piercing stare of yours and tell me,

"Think John."

But I don’t want to think. I can no longer think. Thinking without your snide comments following my train of thoughts doesn’t feel right.

I stepped to the edge.

Is it strange I’m not scared? 

I lied. I am. I’ve been thinking about dying for quite a while now. I think you knew. When you first met me.

Life was quite.. ‘dull,’ as you would put it. The nightmares were getting worse and I was tired of it all. Tired of life. Tired of living. I felt dead inside.

Of course that’s when you came along, bringing danger with you. Shocking me back to life, and all those years I spent with you were the happiest I’ve ever been.

I wish I could hear you play your violin one last time. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautifully you played. How calming it made me. I felt like I understood you through those melodies. Like you were revealing something personal, revealing yourself to me. But that just might be me, romanticizing. 

I put my arms up, like you did. That day. Seemed right. Like if I did the exact same things you did, you’ll appear before me. A silly wish, but one I yearn to come true. I try picturing you one last time. Pacing. Deducting. Playing your violin. Getting all happy once a case appeared. It wasn’t that hard. It hurt. It still hurts. As if you just died yesterday, but you didn’t. It was 3 years ago.

I close my eyes. This is it.

Are you watching Sherlock?

I’m coming.

"I’m coming."

"John."

Open eyes. I didn’t expect that. It’s been months since you’ve been in my head. Does this mean I’m getting close to you now?

"John.."

So you really are watching me. Are you frowning? Are you happy? I don’t know. I can’t tell. I can’t picture your face. Why can’t you appear before me instead of talking? Why?

"John. Step away from the edge."

I stepped off. Instinct. So used to obeying orders. Do as I’m told. Despite me wanting to. Why won’t you let me die Sherlock? Why won’t you let me be in peace? I put my arms down. Didn’t you want to be together again?

"John..?"

His voice is coming from behind me. Do I dare look? I should. I will. I brace myself. I have no idea what my mind will do. What tricks it will play. And it’s you. In your long coat with the collars popped up. Your messy curls. Not broken. Not bloody like all the other times I pictured you. You’re whole. You’re shocked. You’re.. scared. Why?

"John. Come here." 

I was in shock. Here he was. Speaking to me. Whole. Not broken. Speaking. Like he did before.

"John. Please, come here."

Beckoning me forward. Again. Instinct. Reaction. 

It doesn’t matter if he’s an illusion. A figment of my imagination. He’s here. He’s whole. With me. At the place he died.

"I was coming to you," I said. "Seemed only fitting that I did it where you did."

You stared at me, with a sad expression. Sad. Why?

"I’m sorry John."

Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault. It’s Moriarty. Moriarty did this. To you. To us. I’m to blame. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you. You don’t have to apologize Sherlock. Not to me. After all you’ve done for me.

"John."

You look so real. More real than the previous ones. I can reach out and touch you but you might disappear. Vanish. Never to come back. I can’t bare it. I don’t want to even think about it. Thinking. Bad idea. No thinking. Must stay in this illusion. God. It’s so great to hear your voice again Sherlock. You have no idea.

"John. I’m not dead."

Wishful thinking. How depressing. My brain is telling me lies. Is this what I’m reduced to? Telling lies to myself? For what reason? I thought we agreed on this. I thought we wanted the same thing.

You stepped forward. A hand reaching out. Instinct. I stepped back. I didn’t want you to touch me. I didn’t want this dream to end. I didn’t want this illusion to disappear but I'm still close to the edge. I’m about to fall. Weird. I didn’t have time to put my arms up. I close my eyes. Waiting for the end.

A hand grabs my shoulder. Grabs me back. Back to safety. What. Open eyes. It’s you.

"John. What were you thinking?"

I told you Sherlock. I don’t think. I stopped thinking. After you died. But you’re not dead are you? You’re alive. In front of me. You saved me again, like you did, the first time we met. I smiled.

Thank god.

My knees gave away but I never broke eye contact with you.

_Thank god._

I broke down into sobs.


End file.
